A Fable Agreed Upon
by popehippo
Summary: A glimpse into major historical events for the main races of Mass Effect, from the founding of the Citadel to the rise of humanity.


**580 BCE**

How something so big, so _gargantuan_, could so easily have hidden from them for this long was astounding. Every crew member aboard the asari flagship _Thessia's Grace_ stood in raptured silence with all eyes on the display screen as they approached what had only just appeared on the long-range scanners. It had been hinted at in logs from explorers: mostly daring adventurers who had met rather violent ends as they traveled through the dark frontier. Urban legends had popped up like weeds, one after the other. Other races were alive out there. That there were planets besides their own, Thessia, teeming with water and life. The goddesses themselves spelled messages to the faithful in the sky.

Suddenly the stories didn't seem quite so ludicrous.

The Chief Xenodiscovery Scientist of the _Thessia's Grace_, Tanno Vasir, felt her eyes tear up as she stared at it and gave thanks to Athame for leading them to this beautiful discovery. It was shameful for an officer, but she was near tears with emotion. She had never realized how badly she'd wanted this to be true. All four hundred and twenty of her years had been building up to this single moment.

"Finish the scans, pilot. I'm getting the squad together for a manual investigation," ordered Captain Orisha. She was a tall and full matriarch, age only adding to her natural air of leadership, but even her usually harsh tone seemed humbled by the creation that lay before them.

The construction was jet black as a moonless night as they sailed alongside, just close enough to view without getting caught in its gravity field. But when they hit just the right spot, the violet light sometimes blinded Tanno as it rippled across the station's impossibly smooth surface. Miles and miles in length, it slowly turned, dark and silent. Looking for all the world like a lone orphan drifting through the seas of the galaxy, it had seemed almost small and helpless on the radar. But now it blotted out the nearest sun's light as they got closer and searched for a way in.

They found their entrance an hour later in the form of a crack that seemed to suggest that the construct could open up wide, but at present it was just barely enough to send in a small shuttle. "Someone forgot to close the front door?" suggested an ensign, eliciting nervous chuckles around the room.

And so they entered.

Tanno's breath fogged against the front of her helmet as she took the first step in. The only source of illumination was their flashlights slowly waving around, giving the smooth corridors a more dangerous feeling. _Just nerves_, she told herself. Checking her omni-tool again, she confirmed that there was no air inside to breathe, and the gravity was just light enough for them to walk but any solid push would send them reeling through the vast open spaces. Many doors were locked, leaving just a scant few doorways and pathways big enough for them to pass through comfortably.

"So it's true," whispered the ensign who had cracked the joke earlier. There was no hint of sarcasm in her voice now. "There were other aliens before us. Who's home was this? Who lived here?"

One of the scouts paused to brush a hand along a wall. Like everything else on the construct it was smooth as glass, completely empty of damage or any sign of sentient life. It reminded her of an artist's slate wiped clean. But even when presented with evidence of alien existence, she was only met with more questions. Why make this only to abandon it? Had it ever been used in the first place?

"It's so... barren," the scout murmured.

"These little green ones, perhaps?" said Tanno, gesturing to the spindly creatures that followed them insistently. They had appeared as soon as they had stepped inside. Communication had been fruitless; they seemed completely ignorant to any form of language, whether by sound or touch or written. Green and spindly, their little black eyes only stared as the asari tried to question them. Tanno suspected they were not even sentient, perhaps pets or slaves left behind by accident. Or on purpose? Finally, Captain Orisha had lost her patience and suggested they explore. Perhaps then they would get a reaction.

The scout grinned and chuckled. "I don't know. No offense to the first magnificent proof of life outside of Thessia, but they look pretty dumb."

Tanno laughed with her nervously, reaching out to pat one on the head. She had grown rather fond of them already. "They don't seem all too bad- _Ow_!"

Ten rifles all turned as one to focus on the alien while the scientist clutched her hand. Her thumb was split open, violet blood beading where the thing had stabbed at her, before she quickly grabbed an emergency sealant from her belt and slapped it on her cut. The alien ignored her and the agitated soldiers, gathering up the tiny bit of blood on the floor with its long finger and holding it up to the others for inspection. What were they... Tanno's eyes went wide as she realized what they were doing, just as she heard the high-pitched whine of the guns charging up.

"Hold your fire!" Tanno barked, holding up her hands to try and wave the soldiers down.

Orisha narrowed her eyes at the aliens but, respectful of the scientist's position, lowered her rifle. Her squad quickly followed suit. "Explain yourself," she demanded.

"They're studying us," murmured the scientist.

"By attacking you," Orisha growled. "I swear, every bad science fiction story starts like thi-"

"No! Look!"

The group paused to watch as the little aliens continued to puzzle over the small amount of blood. Sniffing it, feeling it, one even seemed to dart out a tongue to taste it. And then, as quickly as they had appeared, they scuttled off into the darkness, leaving just one of them behind. The asari watched with confusion, silent until Orisha finally broke the calm with her usual gravelly tone, "Well, that was a damned warm reception. How do we know they're not warning the rest of their friends?"

"By the Goddess herself, captain, you're as paranoid as a matron with her first child," sighed Tanno.

Orisha lowered her gun but only to point an accusing finger in Tanno's face. "How suiting, because you're as trusting as an infant yourself! We are going to follow them immediately, see what it is they're up to-"

Her words were drowned out by a sudden, crashing noise. Even Tanno reached for the pistol hitched to her hip as the group fell into a ring with their backs to each other. Athame's tits, they were in trouble now, weren't they?

She felt a tapping on her leg. Looking down, she saw the alien that had been left behind. It blinked at her once, still as mute as before, but then pointed high to the ceiling. And then the lights came on.

"What... what is all this?" Her fear slowly dissipating as illumination filled the station, Tanno slowly spun as she watched the construct come alive. One by one, doors opened and rooms were exposed, the lights around them just bright enough to give luminance without being painful to the eyes. The gravity shifted; it felt more natural, and her omni-tool chirped about the appearance of quality air. Behind her, the alien carefully followed, like a guide making sure its foolish little tourists did not get lost. Or, perhaps, that they did not damage anything. She carefully pulled off her helmet and took a breath. The air was fresh and clean. "It's-"

"It's the future," murmured the captain, still staring up to the dozens of empty pathways when the squad turned to look at her. Though her voice was hushed with awe and wonder, it echoed out across the empty mass like a beacon. She turned to her crew and grinned. "We've discovered the future." 

* * *

><p><strong>322 BCE<strong>

A battle had been fought here in this rocky canyon. He could tell. Kaekus Aula had seen more battlefields in the past year than he had seen his mate's face. The sounds of mines going off, the dulled explosion followed by the trickle of earth and rock spattering the ruptured ground, had become as familiar as his daughter's voice... maybe even more so. How long had he been defending this backwater rock of a colony? He paused a moment in his marching to consider. They'd just been celebrating Kahshur's Day, which meant it was... ah. Two years. That meant the war had been going for over five years then.

And now he was the only person left from the colony Magna.

The events of the day were still blurry in his head. It had all been so fast, so unexpected even in times of war. The bombing had begun in the morning during breakfast - that much he remembered; it had been the fourth straight day of bland paste reserves until they could manage to smuggle in something fresh - sending men and women alike scrambling for shelter. There had been no time to run for the defense turrets or heavy weaponry; the only reason Kaekus still had his rifle in hand now was because he'd been showing its cracked butt to his tech friend, Menso. And now she was dead, killed by a collapsing wall, while he had cowered like a hatchling under a table. The deafening sound of buildings collapsing, missiles hissing through the air like some ungodly predator, it had all been too much. He'd hidden away in an alcove with his hands over his ears and prayed to the spirits of luck for mercy, for all the good it did. And so he'd stumbled out of the wreckage once the silence had returned.

That had been the worst part. The silence. There hadn't even been any moans or cries from the dying; just a silence that was comforting with the absence of attackers, yet terrifying in the realization that only he had survived.

The only sounds he could hear now was the wind in his face, his gear click-clacking with his pace and his footsteps against the harsh red ground as he continued to walk towards nothing in particular.

_At least my daughter and mate aren't here_, he reminded himself. _Safe and sound back home, millions of miles away._ There had only been two seats left in the last ship leaving the planet. His mate, Meelah, had complained so bitterly but a gunshot wound had never fully healed properly and left her weak. It had to be her going with their child. It had to be. A selfish part of him wondered if he could have found some other way on. But, no, he couldn't look back. If he looked back now, looked back at his mistakes and regrets, he'd never put another foot forward again. So he forced his mind to other thoughts, and kept his eyes on the road.

His radio and canteen smacked out a rhythm against his hips as he marched. Other than his old gun and the clothes on his back, they were the only thing he'd been able to grab; he kept the radio turned on just in case of any stray messages from another outpost, but a niggling sense of doubt kept him from getting his hopes up too high. At least the insistent whack-whack-whack was welcome company. Better than nothing, right?

The red canyon was twisting and tight, the path just wide enough for him to walk comfortably through but not enough for two adults together. Harsh black marks gave evidence to his belief of a battle being fought here. Between Magna forces and Palaven? Or Magna and Baetika? Who really knew who was fighting who anymore... When it came down to it, it was turian against turian, brother against brother, blue blood on both their hands...

Kaekus laughed dryly at himself. Shit, when had he gotten so philosophical?

A whistling noise caught his ear, and the ground by his feet was stung by an unseen bullet. Instinct and training reacted quickly; he grabbed his rifle off his back and ducked into an alcove, narrowly missing another bullet as it zinged past and into a tree stump. He returned the attack with one of his own, throwing out a wild shot without any real aim. Maybe he could just scare them off. He hoped so. He was too tired for this crap.

But the answer appeared to be a solid 'no', answered with a spray of crushed rock from a bullet that missed his fringe by inches.

His radio began to fritz, a distracting sound as he continued to trade shots with the hidden attacker. Every so often, he could catch a glimpse of him. It was a younger turian, light gray with bright blue marks fresh against his face that marked him as a Palaven loyalist. That explained a lot; the Hierarchy had been trying to ignore the embarrassing little problem of revolt for years, but now they'd finally turned their full attention on them as the attack on Kaekus' outpost had shown. And when Palaven got their hands dirty, they really did it with gusto. He should have known it was too good to believe he'd make it to the next camp without meeting at least one scout.

The Palaven native was getting closer and closer with each firing shot, taking advantage of the canyon's natural corners and hiding spots, but Kaekus was trapped. If he tried to step away and flee, he was all but putting out an invitation for a bullet in his neck. The radio was becoming increasingly noisy, as if trying to egg the man on. Growling with frustration, he looked down and gave it a harsh whack in annoyance. Spirits have mercy, why couldn't it shut up?

When he looked back up again, there was a pistol in his face with a turian half his age behind it.

Kaekus felt his gullet clench with sudden fear. Oh. He hadn't expected to die this soon. And he could see the boy was just as afraid, with the sort of fear that even military training couldn't minimize, the terrifying power of having another man's life in your hands.

The radio garbled with the sound of someone's voice trying to be heard, though it was nowhere as loud as his own heartbeat or the little click of the gun loading-

_"...come to report this glorious victory by our homeworld and government, the Hierarchy, means that the war is over. I report, the war has officially ended. There is no report as to how long planned attacks against dissenters will continue, but Grand Admiral Uvalum has given indication that all battles will cease and desist as of this moment. She promises that troops are to be returned home within the end of the traditional solar year, circumstances allowing. We here at Outer Colonies News welcome the message from our brethren and hope we can all look forward to..."_

And just like that, the world was different.

The war?

It was over?

Kaekus blinked, trying to grasp the idea. Five years of fighting because his people had asked him to, five years of waiting to die one way or another, all done with. It was... refreshing. And, yet, numbing. He glanced to his attacker, who seemed equally shocked by the crackling message, his finger clear off the gun's trigger. So Kaekus voiced the first thought that came to his head.

"Want a drink?"

The stranger blinked, mandibles flaring upwards with confusion. "What?"

Kaekus pointed to his canteen still hanging off his hip. "We're not enemies anymore, I think. Or at least the Hiearchy says so. Want to join me for a celebration drink? I mean, it's just water but still..."

The boy spluttered. This was probably not covered in boot camp for him. "You're a crazy old man!"

"Fine, I'll have yours." He slung the rifle across his back once more and began to uncork the canteen, using the lid for a small cup. He didn't have to feign the 'mmm' of satisfaction from the clean, cool water over his tongue and he could see jealousy blossom in the other soldier's face. He poured down another small gulp before offering it again to his captor. "Well?"

There was a moment of silence, just long enough for Kaekus to consider whether or not the boy would still shoot his pretty face off, before the soldier put down his pistol and reached for the cup.

Kaekus's mandibles widened, exposing his grin as he chuckled and poured himself another round. "To peace, my brother."

His words finally tugged a small smile out of the Palaven boy who had just been threatening to kill him in cold blood. But he was okay with this. There was no more war. No longer homeworld and colony, but turian to turian. He didn't need to look back. He could look ahead.

"To peace, my brother," murmured the soldiers together. "To our unity."

* * *

><p><strong>1 CE<strong>

If Mannovai Septa Bo'wai Metter Jash Gowey had ever known he was going to end up here, on this disgusting little mud ball of a world, he would have learned how to tell his clutchmates 'no' a long time ago.

"Sure, come along for the ride!" Nenke had said when he'd first tried to convince him and the rest of their clutch to join him on a new expedition being sent out to explore a newly discovered system with its own mass relay. Reports had even come in that there were already salarian-safe worlds that were ripe for the picking. All they had to do was stake their claim first.

"It'll be fun," Nenke had said. "Liberating! Educational! Maybe even profitable!" Gowey had tried to say no but Nenke, hatched two and a half minutes after him, had always been his closest sibling and he felt wary of letting the overly-ambitious young man out in the universe alone. What if he blew himself up? Or worst of all, what if he succeeded? They'd never hear the end of it from Nenke, the damn boaster.

Gowey had been the only one to agree, though their Dalatrass sister had agreed to help at least fund it so long as they brought her back something impressive she could present to the Outer-Planet Merchant's Guild. Then they had spent over a week in a cooped up second-hand ship with a handful of secretive asari hirelings, with nothing to eat but paste and bland water, no sunlight on his face or ground under his feet, until the coordinates led them to a marshy and plant-riddled planet dubbed only as ZZ-219. Nenke was as elated as a hatchling on spring eve's feast. Gowey felt only a sense of dread.

Now as he grimaced at the sensation of the red-green mud seeping into his boot while he set up camp, he couldn't help but feel he was right. Still. Better to focus on the future. How much money could they make if they discovered something here? The culinary business was booming since they had made first contact with the asari, the higher families demanding more and more exotice delicacies for their palate. Maybe they'd find some sort of tasty fruit or animal - though the only ones he'd seen so far were little mammals, barely the size of his foot and always scurrying away as soon as they were spotted before they returned to rummage through the packs at night.

They'd stolen his favorite vid-player. Hmph.

Bah, he was being negative again. He closed his eyes and tried to consider the positive. Money. Experience. Travel. Stories. Maybe his reputation as an explorer now would net him enough credit for a breeding pact. Now wouldn't that be something?

"Brother!"

Gowey's red eyes snapped open as his brother came crashing through the underbrush. A grin spread wide on his face, Nenke was pointing back behind him. "I found something!"

The 'something' was really many things. Buildings, actually. While the others went off to explore, the bodyguard assigned to protect the two salarians looked around nervously, her gun ready and loaded. Gowey couldn't blame her. There was no sign of life in the hive-like buildings, pyramid in design with intricate angular designs sketched into every surface, even the floor they walked on. Crawling, stinking native plants had grown their roots into the patterns, suggesting this place had been abandoned for decades if not longer. They hadn't seen a single soul. But Gowey couldn't help but feel like he was intruding as he followed his brother and their guard into an empty hallway.

_Tamma guide our path_, he thought abruptly and then, just as quickly, chided himself for thinking it. Major religion hadn't been practiced on most of Sur'Kesh for hundreds of years since Myrrken's evolutionary revelation, but cultural relics existed. Still, if there was any deity he wanted to pray to, it would be the dual-faced and dual-sexed Tamma. If the old mother and young father could keep their one good eye on the universe that made up their egg clutch, maybe this world was in Tamma's sight. And in this festering, murky darkness... that felt a little better than nothing.

Nervous sweat dribbled down his forehead, traveling between the cracks of his patterned scales and threatening to blind him. But, no, it wasn't sweat. It felt far too sticky and thick on his skin. He reached up and dabbed at it with gloved fingers, holding his hand down towards the flashlight's glow. Not sweat, but a milky green-white goop. It stank of... of...

Nenke had noticed his actions. The younger clutchmate narrowed his eyes at the liquid curiously. "Well, that's gross. What's up there?" He swung his light up to the source and their eyes followed it.

Gowey's chest tightened as his instincts realized what his brain had yet to grasp. As the flashlight fell from his hand he tried to draw breath to run, to fight, or at least cry out for help. But it was too late. Even if he ran now, it was too late.

So only the rachni heard the screams.

* * *

><p><strong>810 BCE<strong>

Shiagur of clan Greff stepped outside and sniffed the freezing air filtered through her protective helmet. Canrum was harsh and hateful to anyone who dared step foot on it, even krogan, with a dangerous beauty that she could appreciate. There was no plant life, no skittering critters. Just rock and ice for miles and miles, some of it piled miles high, pinched in places and completely warped into impossible styles in others. It was still bitterly cold, and sunrise wouldn't be for another day or so.

Disappointing. She'd hoped to die with the sun on her face.

It wouldn't be long now, she knew. Her spies within the Hierarchy and the Council had all been arrested or slaughtered, so that was a dead end. Any food left had been exchanged for armor and weaponry from batarian mercs. The last escape ship had left, stolen by cowards who couldn't stomach the future she faced. No, Canrum would be her grave, and she knew this. It was somewhat calming, really... the certainty that death would come soon. Though she had not yet lost her taste for blood and victory, she smiled to think that at least her final moments would be making those cuttlebones swallow their teeth.

"Mother?"

She glanced down and felt her temper soften. Her youngest, and last, child was staring up at her. His fat little fingers tugged at the chinks in her worn armor. What was his name again? There were so many children here, all of them hers. Her continued fertility in the face of the genophage, as well as her martial prowess and (if she said so herself) her fine looks, had made her exceedingly popular. Though not all of them had survived her escape from their last stronghold, nearly four hundred of the krogan here were her children alone, and this did not even begin to count the mates she had accumulated. Hers was not merely a clan, but an army.

For a moment, she considered the difference between herself and her little son. As a child, she had scrounged for food in the ruins of Tuchanka. Shiagur had pulled herself to the top with every weapon and tool nature had seen fit to give her. She almost mourned that her children would have no such chance. They were too soft and young to fight fully. They would be slaughtered with ease. That was why they'd sent turians instead of asari or salarians; anyone else would be squeamish about killing unhatched infants and children. But the turians knew the risk, as did she, of any krogon on the planet having her genetic quirk that had somehow made her immune to the genophage. They would suffer no survivors.

She would do the same, were she them.

"Karhide," she said, remembering his name at last.

"I'm hungry," whined the child.

"Don't complain. We're all hungry, whelp," she chided, stroking him affectionately over the top of his head with her fingertips. His skull was still soft and round, but his plates were starting to come in, bit by bit. He would have been a fine male.

Karhide wavered with a look of pleading, but only a moment. His jaw stiffened and he nodded with determination. She felt a burst of maternal pride. She could die well, knowing her last children were good ones. Not weak little excuses, prized merely for surviving their own birth, but true krogan.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted her second in command approaching. She glanced back down to her child and pulled a piece of smoked varren out of her pocket, tossing it down to him. "Don't tell your siblings," she gruffed as the child squealed with glee and tottered off to eat it in private.

Her right-hand man, her eldest son Galem, made a dismissive noise at Karhide as he passed and looked to Shiagur. His expression was as grave as his tone as he spoke.

"I managed to get the information," he said. "The turians are approaching. Three warships, each carrying about four hundred soldiers. There's even rumor that one or two of the Council's new pets, one of those Spectres, may be aboard. Probably a salarian. My sources can't confirm that."

The thought brought a laugh to the old warlord. "All of this for me? I'm so flattered. It's not even the anniversary of my Rite."

Galem only scowled, failing to see the humor. "We have a hundred warriors ready and able for battle. Maybe a hundred and twenty, if we drag the sorry carcasses still recovering from the last attack out of the med-bay-"

"They won't be enough."

Her son snorted. "I know."

"I understand. But..." His tone wavered, falling to a pathetic hush. "What will we do, Mother?"

Her ice blue eyes focused on him. To her shame, he cringed. "What a stupid question. We kill all of them that we can. Down to the last of us. Whether it's you, me or the sickliest krogan whelp able to still stand with teeth in his mouth, I want them dead," she snapped, her voice dipping into a growl as she imagined the scene. "Do I make myself clear?"

He nodded quickly. "I will make ready, my Warlord," he quickly replied and turned to go do as such. Again, she considered what a loss it would be. Galem was a fine male, though not lucky as she was in escaping the genophage. He would not have bred well, but he was smart and that was an increasing rarity among her people. He knew escape tactics and survival as much as he knew about offense and warfare. He could have kept them going, even without her, for just a little longer. But the Void was as cruel as the people It had spawned, and It had spat in her eye once again.

Shiagur would die.

Her krantt would die.

Her children, from Galem down to Karhide, would die.

But she would be wading in blue-tinged flesh and broken bones by that last moment. She would make the price for their murder a high one, one worth remembering in the minds and souls of every krogan who heard its tale. That was the victory she hoped for. Not a physical one because that one was clearly hopeless, but an immortal one where she would live on in the words spoken on the tongues of her people, where her tale was told with hate and pride in their battlecries.

Oh yes. She would make them earn _their_ victory. She'd already won hers.

* * *

><p><strong>1895 CE<strong>

Why was this so hard? He just wanted to find his parents. He hadn't meant to get lost.

Night had fallen over Torya City, and Estra'ven nar Torya was close to just sitting down in the dirt and crying. He had been wandering around in the maze-like alleys forever... or at least it felt that way. He'd never been outside this long alone, and he didn't know where he was. His feet hurt, it was dark, his clothes were dirty and he was _stinky_ from all the sweat from trying to find his way home. He should have listened to Mother's warnings. He shouldn't have gone to play outside the house. But she had been loud and angry all day, arguing with Father about something to do with the geth workers in the city. Estra didn't really get it, it all seemed like grownup stuff to him, and she'd never said he couldn't play outside the house with his brothers... just that he _shouldn't_. That wasn't really a rule, right?

He stifled a sob. No. He didn't want to cry. He was almost a big boy now. He was-

His foot caught on a piece of pipe; he tripped and fell hard onto the unpaved ground. A sharp pain in his ankle made him yelp, and when he rolled over to try and stand, it hurt. No! This was too hard! The boy finally gave into the urge to cry, his body heaving with the wracking sobs that echoed through the night. The dirt was cold but he couldn't find the will to get back up. It was too _hard_.

He just wanted to go home, ancestors, why couldn't he just go home?

"Creator child."

A voice! He looked up through tear-muddled eyes to see a trio of people. No... their bodies were metallic, painted with symbols of ownership and manufacturers. Though they looked like quarians their slim bodies were still different, all wires and plates, and most especially the bright white lights emitting from their long cylinder-shaped heads. Those lights stared down at him now without blinking. Oh. It was just somebody's geth. And to think he'd been scared.

"Creator child," one of them repeated, tone halting and bare of inflection or tone. It looked different from the others because of its custom red paint versus the others' default silver, marking it as a personal unit rather than a public worker. But if it belonged to someone, why was it out here? Even kids knew that geth weren't allowed to leave their work sites or owners' houses without permission, much less in groups; what if they were stolen or broke something on accident?

"Hi," he replied, sitting back up with a sniffle, wiping his eyes clean with his hand.

The flaps on the red construct's head raised up questioningly. "Unknown creator child. You are here alone. This area of the city is not considered to be a safe environment to be for adolescents of your age group. Explain?"

Estra'ven ducked his head with shame. Even if they were robots, they weren't kids and this made them sort of like grownups, and he'd broken the rules. Could they get him in trouble? But... they were breaking the rules too. They were alike. Finally he admitted, "I got lost."

The geth all looked at each other, chirping and chattering in their secret language as they talked to each other. They sounded like little birds. Estra'ven giggled, causing them to pause their interfacing and look back at him.

"Cause for amusement?" queried the red one.

"You sound silly! Like birds."

The head flaps flared again as if in surprise. "It is not our intention to sound 'silly'."

"But you do!" Estra'ven persisted, still giggling. He liked geth. They looked so nice, all shiny and smooth. Father liked them, always said he couldn't wait to get one of their own to help around the house, but Mother said they made her nervous. Estra'ven didn't really know why. They were always nice and helpful when he asked. Oh! Why hadn't he thought about that! "Can you help me get home?"

The red geth tilted its head to the side, a programmed imitation of curiosity in a quarian. "Do you not recall the original path to return to your abode?"

"No... I, um, I've never gone out this far by myself."

There was a pause as the trio turned again to one another in clipped and guarded conversation. They barely moved, needing no body language or expressions to speak with each other but Estra'ven waited patiently, fussing with the edge of his shirt until their eyes were back on him. Well, no, they weren't really eyes... kinda. Not like quarian eyes.

They weren't people.

The red geth spoke again, "We will return you to your home, creator child."

Estra'ven scowled. 'Creator child' made him sound like a baby who hadn't earned his grown-up name yet. Well, he hadn't, but he didn't want them to say so! "That's not my name! My name is Estra'ven," he corrected, shaking a finger at him and pronouncing his name again slowly. "Estra'ven. Got it?"

"Creator Estra'ven," amended the construction, copying the boy right down to the slowed speech. It held out a hand, plastic and synthetic flesh. When Estra'ven took it, it was cool to the touch but soft. Carefully, the geth pulled him up into its arms; though it was the size of an adult, it held him as easily as feathers. For the first time in hours, he felt safe again.

So, with the geth on each side of him like overprotective family members, Estra'ven was carried through the nooks and corners of the city. Part of him wondered why they didn't just follow the street. Wouldn't it be faster? Maybe it had something to do with why they were out here. Or maybe their runtimes didn't have good enough maps? He considered asking but.. Mother always said annoying people was rude. Except geth weren't people, he reminded himself again. But they were being nice. So he'd try to be nice.

When his domed house was in sight, he gasped with joy. "There, there!" he cried, pointing and bouncing in the geth's arms. The geth eyed the house, stonily silent in comparison to the elated Estra'ven. He tried to tug himself out of its arms and towards his home, but it remained rooted to the spot, its grip unmoving. All three lights were fixated on the windows.

"Come on! You should meet my Mother," Estra'ven insisted.

"It is not our place. You have been delivered." The red geth set him down gently on his feet. Estra'ven could stand, his ankle feeling much better now. "We will depart, creator Estra'ven."

"Well, fine. But, um, here, I want to give you this for helping me." He reached into his pockets and pulled out a small toy. It was a working, jointed action figure of a fierce Turkeen beast, all fangs and red eyes and claws. It was his favorite. But he had to give them something; it was the right thing to do. "If you want it."

The red geth took the toy in hand, turning it over in its delicate hands to inspect before looking back up to the quarian boy. "Why?"

"It's a gift. You helped me home. That makes us friends. Friends give gifts."

The red geth shifted, and something caught Estra'ven's eyes for the first time; a glimmer of metal against the red geth's hip that didn't belong. It took him a moment to realize it was a gun. Not a toy one like his big brother's, but a real one. His excitement subdued, he looked back up to his rescuer. "Why do you have that?"

The geth studied him with its apathetic 'eye', gears whirring as it thought among its units. It replied, but not with the answer he'd wanted.

"Creator Estra'ven," it said, tone coldly neutral and apathetic, "You are advised to remain indoors, away from any windows or other glass that may shatter. A basement would be suggested. Preserved foods and portable liquids are also advised by this unit. Take caution."

"Caution? I don't get it..." muttered the boy, shaking his head.

The construct's brows flared. What emotion it was supposed to pretend to be, Estra'ven wasn't sure. "Not now. But you will," it said plainly and turned to go without another word, the Turkeen toy still in its hands as it and the others followed along behind until they were out of sight.

Estra'ven watched them go even as Mother came flying out of the house, her arms wrapping him into a tight hug that nearly crushed the air out of him. She was crying and babbling with relief, but his mind couldn't get away from the geth's words. It had made it sound like one of those war movies that Father liked, where everyone was hiding from a big army. But that was silly. There hadn't been any wars for years, school had taught him that, and everyone got along really well since they had made the geth. Everyone was happy. Everything was fine.

And geth couldn't lie, right?

* * *

><p><strong>2000 CE<strong>

The city of Fawole had been beautiful once.

Skyscrapers had reached for the atmosphere, like fingers grasping up to the heavens, black and beautiful against the red and orange hues of the valley they had been built in. A rare source of constant water, fountains had decorated the pavements on every triangular street block. And in the center of it all, the heart of the city, was the temple to the goddess Arashu. Built from stone carried down from the surrounding mountains, it was a holy place of worship and protection. A huge statue of the deity Arashu Herself stood at its entrance, wings folded around Her body like battle armor, each hand holding a curved sword with ease. One was to help bring life, breaking the cord between mother and child at birth. The other was to guide the dying on their way, cutting away their final moments down to the last breath. To pray to Arashu was to love life and death, light and darkness, and the natural way of things. In the luster years, rare blue-white gems had been set in Her face for eyes. Hers had been the largest temple in all the world, filled to the walls with scholars and worshipers alike under Her loving gaze.

Now Fawole was empty. It was no longer alive with the sounds of conversation and prayers but as cold and dead as the stone it was made of. The skeletons of the skyscrapers, ripped open by time and looters, still reached up aimlessly. And Arashu's jeweled eyes were long gone, more than likely sold for someone's last meal.

The sun was beating down as Kaath made his way to the temple steps. Though it was broad daylight and he was a vulnerable old man, he could walk safely here. The city had been evacuated nearly three years ago due to an uncontrolled plague that had nearly wiped out the local population; decades ago, maybe, it wouldn't have been a bother but with medical supplies now a scarcity and hospitals only a memory, it had turned deadly within weeks. He had never seen it happen though. He was not a native son; he had traveled here in search of protection in the form of loneliness. The roving bands of thieves that went from town to town, stealing what few crumbs of civilization could be found for themselves, had killed the only ones left that had tied him to his home city of Tagic'ke. He had walked nearly the entire way, trusting on the memory of a trip to the city from when he had been nine years old, alone.

He paused in front of the ruins of the temple. With its pyramid roof, it was sheltered from the blazing sun, but he didn't dare go inside. It was too dark. And you didn't always find just prayer scrolls in there; many people had shut themselves away in other temples, so sure that this was a test from the gods and that they would just have to wait it out, fasting and praying until their deities came to take their souls away. And the gods did... though perhaps not in the way the faithful had imagined.

Thinking on that now brought back a harsh memory of finding his first body when he was thirteen, ignoring his mother's advice to go see if the temple near his home had had any stores left. All he'd found was a dead woman's body, curled around a massive prayer scroll like a child to a blanket. The recall left him shaking and he quickly strode away. Arashu's form shadowed him until She was out of sight.

His stomach rumbled and pinched hard as he walked. It was a familiar sensation. He hadn't eaten in days, and that last meal had been the last of his dried fruit strips and boiled qunten lizard eggs. If he could just concentrate... he could escape it for a while. So Kaath closed his eyes, and began to remember-

_Home. Mother. Father. Three siblings. All together, for now._

_There had been some food, back then. All the flavors, textures, sensations... Sour. Crunchy. Hot. Cold. Sweet. Soft-_

In reality, his mouth watered with desire.

_-Not moldy, hard, stale. Yet. But it had been scarce. Food had always been scarce since the crops began to fail and herd beasts began to die. Now as the Battle raged on between desperate countries and even more desperate citizens, it was near non-existent for those who hadn't bought their way into the reserves. Theirs had been the last country to fall, not from the forces pushing in from the borders but from the famine within._

_He had cried when they'd had to ration even lower, again, the third time that month. His father wept constantly when he was not lost to solipsism. He barely even spoke anymore, he was so often indulging in happier times, dreaming of the past just long enough to forget the future. Mother was just quiet as she handed out the handfuls of dried meat and underfed insect grubs. Silent. Enduring. Exhausted._

_His younger brothers and sisters ate without complaint because they had no reason to; they couldn't remember a time before hunger or thirst, so this didn't phase them. It simply happened. Life happened._

_But Kaath could remember. He could remember when rain clouds had sometimes filled the skies at least once or twice a year. Real clouds, soft and white and filled with promises of rain, not the choking black smog of the factories and war machines that had led to their doom. He had tried once to explain what farms had looked like to his siblings but it was impossible to explain. They couldn't believe him. Anything other than what they lived with was as much a myth as Arashu herself._

The sensation of impact brought him out of his memory. The wind? But it only took a moment before he became aware of something wet and hot on his chest. He pressed a hand to his jacket and, when he looked down to his fingers, recognized the crimson red of blood. Pain began to blossom inside him.

"Oh," he murmured, suddenly out of breath. When had that happened? Blood loss was already draining his thoughts. Dizzy, he crumpled down onto the pavement, flat on his back. Even so, even above the white hot agony of the wound, he felt the cramp of his empty stomach. Despite the blood and the fear, hunger demanded.

He let out a soft sigh and died.

Running forward, his killer immediately began to rifle through his bag. Tanne pulled off her rough mask to better see her new property's contents, ignoring the pool of blood already filling the sand nearby. Ah-ha! Pulling out a slice of crusty and slightly-molding sin'j bread, she shoved it into her mouth greedily. No water though. She groaned with frustration. This was the second day and the third traveler, and not one gods-damned one of them'd had water on them.

Tanne glanced over to her victim. His black eyes were still wide open, staring up to the sky. Maybe a long time ago, she would have felt bad or guilty. But, as her big brother often told her and as she forced herself to remember now, nothing was fair anymore. Besides... the old man was probably one of those grave robbers who'd-

Light filled the world.

Gasping with surprise, Tanne curled up in a ball and flung up her hands to shield her stinging eyes. Gods preserve! It was as if the sun had exploded with harsh white rays. Even with her eyes closed, she was seeing spots everywhere. The formerly silent city began to fill with sound, an impossibly loud and deafening whirring noise that drowned out even the wind whipping up loose dirt and stone. Sand stung at her exposed teal and red skin like needles. The terror drove her to abandon her things, even the food, as she scrambled to get to her feet and run away. Tanne darted behind a collapsed wall but then, as quickly as it had come, the sounds and gale were gone.

She considered her choices. Run as quickly as possible and hope whatever it was had left or at least didn't notice her. Stay hidden but run the risk of being found. Or... look behind her. Slowly, carefully, she turned around and peeked up through the broken window.

Her father, before he had been killed in the fourth Great War, had read to her from the ancient texts of the Prophetess Ayloree. The priestess had said the gods would come once all the world had heard the warning of the angels, once every man woman and child had taken up the call, and only then would the drell be saved. He had been so sure of this, praying every day and begging her to do the same.

She had laughed at him. "I'll pray to the gods," she had scoffed, "when They come up from the dried-up sea, and tell me so Themselves."

Staring up at the metal monstrosity as it settled into the ground, the body of the man she'd killed only a few feet away, Tanne wept and prayed They would look past her sins.

* * *

><p><strong>2157 CE<strong>

One small step for a man...

One giant leap for mankind.

When Buzz Aldrin had landed on the moon, he had described the view as 'beautiful, magnificent desolation'. President Sofia Hortez certainly understood those words now as she stared out of a window of the _S.S. Washington_. She had been in space before but not quite like this; she had never left Earth's orbit until now. She had always been in sight of her home planet and its moon, still been in sight of the star Sol, the one she knew only as the sun. But they were far beyond that now, she and the rest of Earth's leaders, all in their little ships so far, far away from home.

Many of her advisers had fervently insisted she not go to meet the Council in person. So many of Earth's leaders away so soon after aliens had attacked them? It was ludicrous to the point of insanity. She almost agreed with them. But there was a part of her that was thrilled beyond belief. She had grown up in the slums of the Texas metropolis created when Fort Worth and Dallas had begun to cross each other's borders, straining to look up to the stars through the pollution created by careless generations past. She had wanted to be an astronaut or a colonist, but a heart defect had put her into politics instead. And now, here she was.

God had funny plans.

"Madame President?"

Sofia turned to her assistant. "Yes."

"I have a transmission from the others. They're ready."

Ready. Ready for what, she wondered.

If he knew, he said nothing and was silent as Sofia looked back to the window for a moment. She took a deep breath and held it. This was it. All the world was watching, and history would not forget. Go time. She exhaled and, tucking back a strand of hair, gave the assistant a smile. "Well, let's go."

With grand triumphant music blaring around them, she walked off the ramp in time with the rest of humanity's leaders, and waited for their hosts to arrive. There were many of them, and she recognized most. Fa Wong of China, as stoic as ever, though he looked pale. Jack Richardson of Australia shone with nervous sweat. Masha Kozlov from Russia was fiddling with her hair for the hundredth time while Samir Gupta from India was praying under his breath. Emperor Katsura of Japan and Queen Alice of Britain stood close together with their prime ministers beside them, murmuring too quietly for her to overhear. Damn, they always had the best gossip. And behind the wave of human leaders, an even larger army of bodyguards and news cameras to capture every second for the people still at home. She stole a moment to look at them. Each and every human behind her, no matter the race or gender or nationality, had the same expression. Hopeful. Fearful. Entranced. Stunned. All the same emotions she felt, and more.

None of them had come to office with the expectations of being the ones to stand here and be the first of their line shake an alien's hand.

The Council arrived, to the collective intake of breath from the reporters. Sofia took the sight in, this being the first time she had met them in person. A tall, purple asari in a sweeping gown that made Sofia's dress suit feel like rags. A salarian female, tall and elegant with vivid green colors under her white clothes and dark black eyes. And... Sofia felt the urge to cringe at the sight of the turian councilor. He was the newest to their ranks, from what she understood, after the death of his predecessor. His stark white tattoos against his brown carapace made him look even more predatory than usual, something hard to pull off with a species that already made her feel like she was being watched by a remnant from Earth's Jurassic period. She told herself that was why she had to fight from wincing. Sofia had heard the harsh words of her peers and their peoples about the turians already, and the First Contact War had been over for nearly a month. But people were still hurt, still angry. Her mind flashed back to the pad in her cabin about a worrisome call-to-arms by someone deeming themselves 'Cerberus'. Had they accomplished their dreams, to be in the stars, only to face another struggle of bigotry and blind hatred?

No. She didn't want it to be that way. Someone had to be willing to put mistakes aside.

The asari matriarch bowed deeply, arms spreading wide in welcome. As translators were still being worked on, she spoke a greeting in a number of languages, all with a fluid and airy accent that she couldn't quite place. The salarian repeated it, his clipped and fast voice reminding her of a bird, and the turian was thankfully brief and subtle though she could still feel the weight of his pinpoint eyes.

Then, finally, they offered in English, "We welcome you, citizens of Earth, to our Citadel."

Both parties fell into silence. Now it wasn't just the turian who was the predator but all of them, waiting for the first move, the first mistake. The only sound in the air was the draw of breath and curt clatter of photographers. Sofia's chest felt as tight as wire, her body like concrete. There were no rules for this. None. This was...

This was...

One small step.

She put a foot forward and extended her hand. After a moment of consideration, the asari took it. Her skin was hairless but soft, with a prick of static shock she had come to know was habitual with biotic users. So close to being human, yet still so different. After shaking her hand, Sofia offered it next to the salarian. The Dalatrass's grip was loose but the alien matriarch shook her hand so fast it nearly hurt. And, finally, the turian. His eyes narrowed only slightly before he took it, a strong firm grip. Her relief was instant; you could always trust a man with a good handshake.

"On behalf of Earth... it's nice to finally meet you."

* * *

><p><em>All the ancient histories, as one of our wits say, are just fables that have been agreed upon.<br>- Napoleon Bonaparte_

**Author's Note:** Not all the information in this fic are strictly correct but creations of my own using what information we do have in the game, its lore and its related media, and shouldn't be taken as canon. Mass Effect and its universe is the property of Bioware. I just like to make castles in their sandbox.


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